


Won't Be Cold Within

by Maeve_of_Winter



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Domestic, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Sleepovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-10-27 04:19:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17759651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maeve_of_Winter/pseuds/Maeve_of_Winter
Summary: After Kevin saves him from a group of Ghoulies, Jughead finds himself taking refuge in the Keller household during a cold winter night.





	Won't Be Cold Within

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bloodredcherries](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodredcherries/gifts).



The set of plaid pajamas Kevin handed over to him looked distinctly nicer than anything Jughead had ever owned in his life. The fabric was soft and looked warm, smelling pleasantly of citrus laundry detergent. Jughead didn’t doubt they were probably either brand new or very nearly so.

“Go ahead and wear them,” Kevin invited him, add a pair of sturdy socks and a thick henley to the bundle in Jughead’s arms. “We can put your clothes through the laundry, then. I mean, as long as you’re okay with that,” he added hastily.

Jughead glanced down at himself, unable to suppress a surge of self-consciousness.. He knew Kevin was probably referring to the grass stains on his shirt or the smears of mud on his jeans, both gained from when that group of Ghoulies had jumped him. (They were still angry over the drag race, and Jughead probably would have been in serious trouble if Kevin hadn’t happened to be driving by in his truck and and instantly dove out to help him.) Truthfully, though, every article of clothing on his body could probably use a turn in the washing machine. It had been nearly three weeks since he’d had the time or money to go over to the laundromat. 

Still, as much as he wanted to accept the offer, he hesitated, remembering just whose house he was in.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” he asked warily. “I mean, if your dad comes home and finds me here . . .”

“It’ll be fine,” Kevin said determinedly. “He’s on an overnight shift, and he prefers when I have someone here with me on these nights, anyway. Besides, the temperature is getting into the negatives tonight—I couldn’t leave you alone to freeze at the trailer park.”

Jughead had to admit that it would be nice not to have spend a night in the trailer, with its paper-thin walls bereft of any kind of insulation, nothing to keep the heat in and the cold out. The Keller home was much more comfortable, with its plush carpets and numerous fireplaces and warm, cozy armchairs and couches. And thus, he eventually reasoned, if somewhat reluctantly, that it would be worth putting up with the risk of dealing with Sheriff Keller’s scrutiny if it meant not having to tug on three different sweatshirts before going to bed.    

“All right,” he agreed. He looked down at himself again, grimacing. He looked like some kind of raggamuffin, utterly out of place in the well-kept and richly furnished Keller household. “You don’t mind if I shower, do you?”

“Of course not,” Kevin reassured him. “The towels are in the upstairs linen closet. And help yourself to whatever shampoo or soap or anything you might need.”

“Thanks.” Jughead managed to give him a small smile before going upstairs.

The bathroom was spotless, not so much as a water mark to be found on any of the stainless steel faucets, and the various supplies were plentiful, as was the hot water. Jughead found himself finding excuses to stay under the hot spray, soaping himself up numerous times, and then following that by lathering with with the woodsy-smelling shower gel he’d found. It was the longest shower he’d had in a while and certainly the most effective—whenever he was low on cash, minor luxuries like shampoo and and soap were the first to get scratched off the grocery list.

As he exited the shower and wrapped himself in a wide, fluffy towel, he felt far more relaxed than he had in a long while. True, a few of his injuries from his fight with the Ghoulies were still smarting, and he had no doubt that by this time tomorrow, he’d have colorful bruises dotting up and down his face and torso. 

But a strange feeling, one he couldn’t quite place, had washed over him, putting him at ease even though he knew he shouldn’t be. Even though he was very aware that he was just a guest in the Keller household (and likely an unwelcome one, as far as Sheriff Keller would be concerned), he felt . . . happy to be there. 

No, “happy” wasn’t the right word, Jughead mused, toweling himself off. It was some other feeling, a similar one. He couldn’t determine what it was, though.

After drying off, he dressed in the pajamas, putting on the henley and then buttoning down the pajama top over it afterwards, and then tugged on the socks. Both shirts were too big in the shoulders, hanging off his torso, intended for Kevin’s more solid and muscular frame. But they were still warm and comfortable, so Jughead wasn’t too bothered.

Gathering up his discarded clothing, he made his way downstairs, unable to avoid noticing the features and fixtures of the house that the trailer lacked. The Kellers evidently preferred that weird, upscale redneck type of decorating, with a whole bunch of copper lamps and rough wood surfaces. Rustic, Jughead thought it might be called. The foyer chandelier was one of those silhouette types with bears and pine trees carved out of metal, the ceiling had those exposed wooden beams, and there were Western-style woven rugs over the hardwood floor. No taxidermy, but he was guessing that it was just a matter of time. 

While he didn’t care for any of it, all of the decorations gave the house a sense of . . . something. And whatever it was increased that not-quite-happy feeling in his chest, the one that he still couldn’t quite determine what it was. It nagged at him slightly, but he was too tired and hungry to give it very much focus.     

He found Kevin in the kitchen, ladling a generous portion of stew into a large bowl. 

“There you are,” Kevin said, smiling at him like he was some kind of welcome guest and not a charity case he took home out of pity. Jughead supposed it was only polite of him to pretend. “Here, I’ll trade.” He offered Jughead the bowl of soup. 

“Gladly.” Jughead handed over the pile of dirty clothes and tried not to show his embarrassment that he needed to rely on someone else just to get his laundry done. 

“I’ll these right in the wash,” Kevin told him kindly. “I have one already waiting, so it’s no trouble at all. You should go warm up by the fireplace—don’t worry, it’s fine to eat in the family room. Oh, and those rolls—” he inclined his head toward the basket on the marble counter, “are fresh baked, just out of the oven. Take as many as you want.”

“ ’Preciate it,” Jughead called after him as Kevin made his way to the laundry room.

It had been a while since he’d been able eat to his fill without needing to worry about rationing his food for the next day, so Jughead grabbed three rolls and was already halfway through the second one by the time he entered the family.

The fireplace was a big, fancy stone setup with a raised hearth, and as he approached it, Jughead realized that instead of being one of the regular wood-burning kind, it was actually one of those bougie types of propane heaters, with a sheet of glass between him and the flames. While the fireplace type didn’t actually make much of a difference—it was still radiating welcome heat, after all—Jughead still felt an inexplicable pang of disappointment. 

He had a fondness for the real kind of fireplaces. Last year. His family had moved from their drafty, rickety townhouse on the Southside to a tiny cottage on the Northside, staying there just long enough for Jughead to be able to attend Riverdale High instead of Southside High. Admittedly, the Northside house wasn’t that much of an improvement and was pretty cramped. Jughead’s bedroom had been about the size of a closet, and Jellybean’s bedroom had been an actual closet they’d cleaned out and then done their best to make into a regular room, but he’d still loved it there. They’d had a large backyard and a fireplace where he and Jellybean liked to roast marshmallows. While they’d lived there less than ten months before everything went wrong and his mom had walked out, bringing Jellybean with her, that place had felt more like a home than the townhouse or their trailer ever had.

Wait a minute. _ Home.  _

That was the feeling he’d been struggling to name, the sensation that had overcome him as he remained in the house. 

This house felt like a home to him. Had the warmth and welcome feeling of that cottage on the Northside, that intangible homey feeling that he belonged. And while Jughead logically knew that it wasn’t and he didn’t, he couldn’t ignore that he felt contented here in the Keller house even in spite of his reservations. Felt welcome even though he knew that under normal circumstances he might not be. Felt warm and safe in this cozy family room, weird redneck decorations or not.  

Kevin hadn’t just allowed him to spend the night in his house. He’d given Jughead a real, true home for the night, invited him to be a part of it. And though Jughead was achingly, painfully aware that the trailer he would go home to tomorrow wasn’t home and wasn’t the place where he wanted to be, he was grateful for it all the same. He was grateful to have a home to go to, grateful to experience the feeling of one once again, even if it wasn’t his.

Kevin joined him then, carrying his own bowl of stew with one hand and holding two glasses in the other, a carton of fancy organic fruit juice tucked under his arm.

“Something to drink?” Kevin offered, setting down one glass by Jughead and uncapping the juice. 

“Please,” Jughead replied, impressed at Kevin’s unending thoughtfulness.

Kevin poured him a full glass and then took a seat at the other end of the hearth, pouring some juice for himself before digging into his bowl of stew.

Seeing his enthusiasm, Jughead took a bite of his own; it was delicious, with rich chunks of beef and savory vegetables to complement the plentiful noodles. But instead of taking another bite, he decided to thank Kevin.

He cleared his throat, setting his bowl down. “Hey, uh—” he paused as Kevin looked at him expectantly. “Thanks for having me over. It means a lot to me. I—” Jughead felt embarrassment swell within him, almost choking out the words. “I know you didn’t have to do any of this, so, um, thanks for doing all of it.”

Kevin looked at him, not with sympathy or pity, but with genuine affection. “You can come over anytime you want, Jug. I know you might not always want to be hanging around here because of my dad, but if you ever need something, even if it’s just a little thing like doing laundry or having lunch, I’m always happy for you to stop by.”

Lunch and laundry. Jughead had been worrying about both for so long now that he could barely remember when he could call either one of them a “little thing.” But it was to Kevin’s credit and Jughead’s good fortune that Kevin was handing him an open invitation for both of them. And since Jughead found himself at a loss to explain what the offer meant to him, he decided to simply express his thanks instead.

“You’re a good friend, Kevin,” he told him sincerely. “I’m glad to have you in my life. Thank you.”

“And I’m glad that you want to be my friend even when things are tense between you and my dad,” Kevin confessed.

The admission left Jughead blinking in surprise; he’d never considered, not really, that someone would think it a privilege to call him their friend, but he found himself heartened by it all the same.

Reaching for his glass, Jughead held it aloft. “To friendship,” he said, a smile tugging at his lips as he spoke. “To its survival, no matter what the circumstances.”

Smiling back at him, Kevin raised his glass and clinked it with Jughead’s.


End file.
